


So Mote It Be

by TheLastFounder



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Alternate Universe - Noir, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dark Harry, F/M, Good Albus Dumbledore, Gun Violence, I had to get this idea out of my head, I have so many stories I should be writing chapters for, Obsessed Harry Potter, Revenge, Voldemort needs to be shot, Why is there so few Noir Potter Stories?, instead, no magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-29 04:40:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18771388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLastFounder/pseuds/TheLastFounder
Summary: His parents shot dead in the night. A world left toiling in darkness, ignorant to the truth. On the cusp of war, England can not afford to notice the shadows growing before their eyes. Harry Potter, orphan at age one, the only living victim of Crime Lord Tom Riddle's crimes, can not ignore the dark.He seeks it, he searches for the man that tore apart the future he could have had.Riddle would die, Harry would ensure it.





	So Mote It Be

**_“Dark times lie ahead of us and there will be a time when we must choose between what is easy and what is right.”_ **

* * *

******My name is Harrison James Potter.**

I’m a dead man walking, but not quite as literal as the way I paint it, more endangered than dead.

I was the sole survivor of a tragedy, the one left to tell the tale of a night gone wrong when two brave souls refused to fall to temptation.

On Halloween night, 1931, a criminal by the name of Thomas Riddle, a man that fancied being a crime boss, decided he wouldn’t take rejection any longer.

My parents were influential and skilled individuals, my father a skilled and talented detective, my mother a genius chemist that planned on curing cancer with a single pill.

Both loved and trusted, shining and beautiful as they shone in the darkness of the world.

Then Riddle decided that he would pervert the light and seed darkness into the calm order that had been England.

He had risen through the criminal underworld for years now, making alliances and connections with some of the most powerful people in the United Kingdom, all who echoed his words and goals.

Riddle wanted my parents to do the same, to join him in his misguided mission to purge the weakness from England.

They refused, both on their morals and on my own life, a fragile being that had no chance of surviving without them.

They had been my protectors from this twisted world around us, the lights that would lead me forward from the shadows, and save me from temptation.

Riddle shot them dead, their lights extinguished like wisps in the wind.

His first shot, my father fell dead, his efforts to protect those he loved pointless, Riddle stepping over his still form with amusement and bloodthirsty pride.

His second shot, my mother’s pleading form fell to the dark, pleas for my survival falling from her lips as she collapsed before me, my young eyes seeing nothing but sadness.

I had cried, and Riddle turned to me with a smile that brought nothing but dread and hurt.

He raised his gun, a pistol aged by time and polished in blood, it’s barrel pointed straight at my little form, my life had almost come to end as evil threatened what little life I had.

His third shot, the one meant to end the life of an innocent child, jammed in the barrel.

Riddle frowned, his eyes trailing quickly to the gun that had never failed him, only a rough click meeting his demands.

Riddle popped the bullet free, and tried once more to end my life, only for the bullet to take a turn for seemingly the supernatural.

His pistol exploded outward, the blast ripping Riddle’s arm to shreds, a crimson cloud exploding outward as a sound like thunder flew from the room, my young ears hurt by the mistakes of a mad man.

I lost my parents that day, as Riddle lost a part of himself.

Despite the beliefs of so many people throughout England, all who celebrated the news that the infamous murderer had been killed, a shining light in the almost unending series of hardships that plagued England in recent years.

Despite it all, all the proof and all the claims, the silence that should have arise if Riddle lived, I knew he still did.

The signs were clear and everywhere, and I was not the only one to notice it.

Despite all that I was told and warned, I knew that Riddle would return, and only one thing would remain of my soul and others.

I would kill Riddle, shoot him dead like he did my parents, avenge their memory in the dreadful light of a new day, and usher in a light untainted by the shadows of the past.

Even if I fell to the dark as well, my eyes would see salvation before it all came to an end.

**To my end.**

* * *

  **St. Godric’s School for the Youth, Scotland**

**(April 12th, 1946)**

* * *

******“Ah, Harry my boy, how long has it been?”** Albus Dumbledore said with warmth, having welcomed his favorite student back into the school Albus loved so very much, the boy having left there so long ago.

“Roughly five years now Sir, but I’m afraid this isn’t a social call…” Harry said with a bit of sadness, having not seen his former professor in so long, and feeling bad that such poor events were his reasoning.

“I know Harry. This is about Riddle, is it not?” Albus asked of the boy, the two sitting in the older man’s office, the air between them familiar and nostalgic. Albus had missed the talks the two would have, the man’s thoughts often coming back to the boy’s father, who was so similar yet different to Harry himself.

Then sadness would seep in, and they would enjoy the silence, but it held no such relief for them now.

“I’ve heard rumors professor. Downing Street, I’ve heard whispers that Riddle draws near. We must do something.” Harry said to his elder, anxious to get his hands on the vile man that had ruined the lives of so many.

Many of his friends still felt the brunt of Riddle’s destruction, so much of England still had to be healed from Riddle’s corrosive touch.

Harry knew he would never be so lucky as to avoid it, a part of Riddle following him wherever he went.

Harry knew that they would come to grasp one day, but Albus so wished they wouldn’t.

“Despite how much of a nuisance Prime Minister Fudge has been to Britain, and how much St. Godric’s has suffered due to his mandates, I don’t see how a sixteen year old and a old man can do much to protect the Minister more than his own staff could.” Albus said softly, his eyes grieving for the boy before him, the almost man that had been through so much hardships and heart ache in such a short life.

He only wished he could convince him to let Riddle go.

Like Albus had failed to do himself…

**“I’m not alone Professor, I’ve never been alone.”**

* * *

******I had spent so many years despairing over my fate,** wishing Riddle dead with my every breath, praying for the day that I would leave him lifeless and bloody before me, to see the horrid life drain from his terrible gaze.

I would be a slayer of men, a killer of souls, but I would still never be the monster that Riddle had become, a man that enjoyed lives taken and blood shed.

I had seen much death in my years, and caused much more, but I had never taken a life.

I knew it would be difficult, as I knew my day would come where I would be darkened by such a sin, but I would bear the burden.

So many had tried to bear it for me, but I could not let that continue any longer.

I would be ready to give everything to end Riddle.

**Even my life.**

* * *

******“You know you don’t need to do this…”** She said to him, the two held close as the light began to rise in the sky, Harry’s face conflicted as he held her through the night.

She had said as much to him so many times, yet they both knew it wasn’t the truth.

She had pleaded with him, for them to run away together, far from where any could find them, the two of them finally living the life they had wished for for so very long.

The life they had dreamt of for even longer.

But Harry knew it was but a fantasy, so long as Riddle lived, they could never run far enough.

Anywhere they ran to would only lead Riddle to even more innocents.

Endanger so many just for them to have a little more time together.

They both longed for it, the chance for them to be together, to live their lives as they wished.

They both knew it wasn’t to be if Riddle continued living.

So, for her, for them, Harry would become a killer.

He would avenge all those that had fallen to Riddle’s hand.

If only he could escape his own.

“I promise you, that when he lies dead, I will come back to you.” Harry said to her, his eyes sad as he placed a soft kiss to her cheek, tears falling from her eyes as hers met his.

**“We both know that’s a lie.”**

* * *

******(June 16th, 1942)**

* * *

 **** **“Hello Mr. Potter, how nice of you to join me.”** The man Harry had known as a teacher for so long, albeit an odd one, now stood before him now.

They stood in an aged chamber of St. Godric’s, aged pillars circling around them as dim light fell through weary lights.

Harry and his friends had heard whispers that an artifact was being kept in safety at the school, and they had come to the conclusion that someone may attempt to steal it.

So, one lonely night, Harry had went alone to check the room they assumed held the artifact, and found their culprit.

Professor Quirrell, a man that many had seen as an incompetent teacher of history, now stood across from him, a revolver pointed at Harry’s head steadily.

None of the usual anxiety or nervous manners plagued Quirrell now, only cool collectiveness.

Harry knew what he had stepped into.

“You work for Riddle… don’t you Professor.” Harry said with a snarl, slowly circling around the man, his distance held from the man as they eyed each other up, Quirrell’s aim never wavering.

“Of course I do, why else would I be here?” Quirrell asked sarcastically, a sickening grin spreading across his usually nervous face.

Harry wished to wipe it from him.

“There never was an artifact, was there?” Harry asked, now seeing that there was nothing in the room that hinted at anything valuable enough to be hidden in a random school of faith.

Quirrell smiled.

“My lord holds no need for such trivialities Potter. This, charade… this is all for you boy. I hope you feel special.” Quirrell said with a smirk, cocking the hammer back on the revolver as Harry came to a stop, his eyes challenging and defiant, just as they had been as a child.

“So… he sends a mere grunt to finish me off, rather than come here himself? How disappointing.” Harry said with a scoff, Quirrell’s anger rising at such an insult to the man that he considered as good as a god.

“My lord has better things to do than tie up such a pathetic loose end, so I will do what I must.” Quirrell said with a rising smirk, his aim sure as he pointed the instrument of demise at the boy before him. “Do you have any last words boy?”

Rather than responding himself, Harry merely smiled as he shifted his gaze to the left of Quirrell.

“Are you just going to stand there beautiful?”

A gunshot roared out, as Quirrell’s eyes widened, a hole in his forehead giving him a third eye as he collapsed to nothing on the dusty floor, his last breaths coming out as a wheeze. 

Harry just shook his head at the man, moving and stepping over the man’s still form, as he looked at his savior.

She just frowned as she gazed at the smoking gun in her hand, the weight of what she had done weighing on her no doubt. Her small form shaking as she just stared at the man she had killed so callously. 

Harry just smiled at her softly, lifting her chin so he could lock eyes with her, her dark orbs meeting his bright ones.

They fit so well together.

“You took my gun.” He whispered to her, his eyes weary as he saw the conflict in her own eyes.

“I… I had to protect you Harry.” She whimpered as he drew her into his arms, her form relaxing as his pistol fell from her small hand.

The metal hit the floor with a noise unlike many others, but neither drew away from the other, them both lost in a world of their very own.

One where Riddle could not harm them… until the dark began to creep into their very thoughts.

When the day would bleed into night.

**“You did beautifully Pansy.”**

* * *

**(1944)**

* * *

******Riddle lived.**

Harry had seen as much himself, having been kidnapped from his very home, and finding himself taken to a graveyard of all places.

The chill of the night pierced his bones, his soul.

The stench of death and darkness rang all around him, as the moon shined dimly overhead, his eyes weary as he felt the binds on his body before he saw them.

He knew what he had been forced into before he had seen Pettigrew step forward.

The one man that had been given the knowledge of his parent’s safe house, the one place they would have been safe… and he had betrayed them so surely.

Pettigrew would choke on his own blood, Harry would ensure it.

He saw the form behind the large man, a suited man step closer to him, his unholy red eyes blazing as a small grin rose on the face Harry hated so much.

“Harry Potter… at last we meet.” Tom Riddle said to the boy, a tip of his head to him as Harry snarled at the man that had stole so much from him, from so many people.

“Do you fear death Potter?” Riddle asked of him, that infamous white steel pistol rising to press itself against Harry’s forehead as they locked eyes, crimson on emerald.

Light against darkness.

Bright versus dim.

They both shone, and they both wilted within the shadows.

They were so alike… and Harry hated the man even more for it.

**“Not as much as you do.”**

* * *

  **Riddle had always been there,** lurking and watching, always aware of everything I did and planned.

I was sick of the boogeyman ruining all I had, and as I stood on the edge between light and darkness, the path leading to the futures I could endeavor.

Riddle sought to end my life, to destroy all I could have, as he tried so very long ago.

I would not let this monster destroy me, nor would I let myself fall to him, nor his goons.

I would not let him kill me unless bullets were shared between the two of us equally.

I would only go down if I took that red eyed bastard down with me.

I would do everything I could to stop that beast that pretended to be a man.

I would do anything to make everything right, and as it should be.

So mote it be, as my old teacher would say.

**I would make it so.**

**Author's Note:**

> I should be writing chapters for the Master of Nothing series, but this idea kept burning inside my head until I sat down and wrote this.  
> I may continue this.


End file.
